Watch and Learn
by avenged
Summary: There was a hole in her life, threatening to swallow her, and he managed to fit it exactly, filling it and sparing her from falling in. As for how long it would be until the darkness consumed him instead...he would have to wait and see. OroTsu.


**A/N:** This was written as a request for pumpkingirl411, who made me fall in love with this pairing all over again. It was originally intended as a short six-scene ordeal, but it took on a life of its own (obviously) and grew into somewhat of a life story. I don't claim it to be canon; I simply claim it to be possible.

It might be two parts, or three parts, or four parts. I don't know. It depends on how the story goes. Expect the next part (hopefully) within two weeks.

The characters may seem a bit OOC at first, but remember: they're still young. Orochimaru isn't a psychopath…yet.

And a sidenote: I absolutely _hate_ The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but nevertheless, I find the epigraph appropriate, don't you?

**Warnings:** If you're reading an M rated story, you should know.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except the plotline (mostly).

* * *

_We accept the love we think we deserve._

* * *

After he dies, she forgets she exists.

Jiraiya stops by frequently to see her, announcing his arrival with a soft rap on her door, but it never opens. He sighs, leaves the baskets of food on the step, and walks away.

She comes out later, retrieves them, and dumps the contents into the trash.

Only one thing could sustain her now—and it is lying in a hardwood coffin next to a grave empty save for the water, rising ever so slowly.

It has been raining for days.

* * *

"Tsunade," Orochimaru says, his long hair plastered to his forehead by the rain, "can I come in?"

He receives no reply.

"I know you're home, and I know you can hear me."

Silence.

"Please?"

A muffled sound, as though something is scraping across the floor. He listens, his ear pressed against the door…and smiles.

She has shoved her dining room table underneath the latch.

_I will give her time._

* * *

She sighs, running her hands over the smooth surface of the table.

Dan had sat on the left end, she remembers, suspiciously poking at the ramen she had placed in front of him.

"_I thought this was supposed to be a nice dinner," he said, half joking and half serious._

"_It is. You have me. Now shut up and eat."_

_Chuckling, he picked up the chopsticks and lazily twirled the noodles around them. "I know how much you hate cooking." He set them down and looked at her, midnight blue meeting rich amber, and she melted under his gaze. "Thank you…for making this for me."_

She smiles, remembering how the blush had crept up over her cheeks and how she had tried so hard to remain stoic and serious.

"_It's the least I could do. I wanted you to have something decent before you went out to the battlefield tomorrow."_

_She turned to him abruptly. "Dan. Promise me you'll come back."_

_He sighed and put down the chopsticks, folding his hands in his lap. "Tsunade, you know I can't do that."_

_She reached over, desperately gripping his hands in hers. "Then promise me…you'll fight as hard as you can. Promise me you'll stay strong. Promise me that you won't get so badly injured that I can't make you well again."_

_He laughed softly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand. "There is no one you can't heal."_

"_Please, Dan. Just promise me."_

_He leaned in and kissed her, just the softest brush of lips on lips, and gave her hand a light squeeze. "All right. I promise."_

And now she lays there, her hair dirty and limp, her eyes burning red from crying, her knees clutched to her chest as she tries to hold herself together, tries not to break as easily as he had broken his word.

But if she hadn't been strong enough to save him…how could she be strong enough to save herself?

She runs her fingers over the tabletop one last time and lets the torrential downpour inside of her take over.

The rain outside is nothing in comparison.

* * *

"Tsunade," Orochimaru begins, shuffling his feet awkwardly, as he doesn't make a habit of comforting people, "you probably don't want to listen to me. And I'll admit that it's a little strange talking to your front door. But…you need to hear what I have to say."

He doesn't expect a response, and he doesn't receive one. He breathes in, breathes out, and continues.

"It's not your fault."

Something crashes against the inside of the door, and he thinks he hears china shatter.

"We can't always save those whom we love. Sometimes…we have to let them go."

He swears he hears her laugh—a short, sharp laugh that cuts through him like a knife.

"And who," she murmurs, so softly that he can't be sure it's her talking and not a voice inside his head, "has ever loved you?"

He turns away, feeling her eyes boring through the door, through his mind, and he has never felt so vulnerable.

Disgusted, he shakes himself. Never before has he been weak. He does not plan to start now—no matter how much her comment has shaken him.

_Watch._

_I will give her hope._

* * *

The amulet feels heavy around her neck, like an anchor dragging her down below the water that pounds on her windowpanes. She lets the cold metal drop against her skin and takes a small sip of her tea, exhaling deeply as it burns its way down her throat.

He has still not been buried. The grave is now so full that it will have to be drained when the rain finally stops. Personally, this suits her just fine. She does not want him shoved unceremoniously into the ground. She does not want him to be reduced to a name on a stone.

She is too young to bury her lover, and much too young to bury her love.

* * *

"Any luck?" Jiraiya asks.

Orochimaru shrugs. "Well, she threw something at the door."

Jiraiya scoffs. "I told you she didn't want to see you."

"But what else am I supposed to do?" Orochimaru exclaims, startling his teammate who has never seen him allow his emotions to control his actions. "I'm not going to sit here and wait around until she shatters into a million little pieces. I'm not going to leave her alone when she needs someone there. Because she will. You watch. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, and I'll be there for her."

Jiraiya shakes his head. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" Orochimaru asks, raising an eyebrow.

He snaps. "Damnit, Orochimaru! Can you really be that dense? Do you really think that after what you said to her—or, rather, what you _didn't_ say—that she'd actually try to find comfort in _you_? You've made it plain that you don't care about what happened to Dan. And you know what? That is _killing_ her! She shouldn't have to choose between her best friend and the memory of her lover…but you've forced the decision upon her. And it looks like she's made her choice."

Jiraiya turns away. "You say you're sorry, and maybe—_maybe_—she'll come around. Maybe. But I wouldn't put money on it."

"You watch," Orochimaru hisses, his fists clenched so tightly that his fingernails are making little crescent moons of blood on his palms. "You watch. I'll make her forget. I'll make her forget all about the little shit—"

"Orochimaru!"

"—because that's what he was: a weakling who couldn't even keep himself from getting killed. And someday, she'll realize that, realize that he wasn't good enough for her."

"And you are?"

His voice is now barely a whisper, his arms trembling at his sides. "No. I'm not. Not yet. But soon, I will be."

He gets up, tosses some coins on the table to pay for his drinks, and breezes out—but not before Jiraiya catches the last words he mutters under his breath.

"You just watch."

_I will give her…forever._

* * *

The rain has finally stopped, though the clouds remain. Wrapping her jacket tightly around her, Tsunade climbs out the window, finding it too troublesome to remove the dining table and the fragments of porcelain from her entryway, and begins the walk to Dan's grave. Her house is not far from the site, but the wind is frigid, her legs are reluctant, and it is the longest walk she has taken in her life.

She runs her hands over the lid of the coffin. The air reeks of water, moss, and the pungent fumes of the dead—but the stench does not bother her, for more than anything else, it smells like _him_.

Tsunade's gaze travels from the coffin to the bottom of the grave, which is filled with musty rainwater. Closing her eyes, she forms the seals for a simple water jutsu, and when she opens them again, the grave is completely dry.

She brings her hands together again but finds that her fingers are shaking so badly that the seals will no longer form.

_Breathe, Tsunade. Breathe._

She begins again.

The coffin raises in the air, turns slowly, and then, with a swift motion of her hands, it is lowered into the ground, down, down into oblivion. She releases the jutsu, and with it, she releases her heart, giving herself up to fate and chance and water, willing the current to take her wherever it may, as long as it is away from her past.

She bends down, grabs a clump of dirt, and throws it down into the grave.

She wants to bury him with her own hands.

* * *

Orochimaru smiles. The diagram looks perfect—and, if he understood the medical texts he'd snatched from the hospital properly, even plausible.

He knows it should disgust him. He knows it should make him want to hurl it into the fire. But…it does not. Because it is for her. All for her.

_I will give her a future…whatever it takes._

* * *

"Are you sure you're ready to come back, Tsunade?" the head of the hospital asks.

_No. No, I am not ready. I am breaking inside; can't you see? This outer resolve is a façade; one false movement and it will crack. One wrong step and it will tear as easily as wet paper. One slip…and I will self-destruct._

"Yes," she finally says. "I've been away for too long."

The older woman smiles and touches her shoulder comfortingly. She flinches.

"We're glad you're feeling better, dear. But if you find that the work is too much…"

"I will be fine," she says solemnly, strongly, firmly. "I will be fine."

* * *

"No."

Orochimaru looks at Sarutobi with disbelief.

"No?"

"No," the older man repeats, barely touching the edges of his student's diagram as he hands it back, almost as though what is on the page might poison him. "I understand what you are trying to do, Orochimaru, but…"

"You obviously don't," Orochimaru snaps, snatching up the diagram. "If you did, you would realize that this is a discovery of paramount importance—a discovery that could change the face of medicine as we know it! A discovery that, if I am allowed to test it…"

"And how many lives will you end before you erase all of its flaws?"

Orochimaru shakes his head furiously. "What do they matter if with it I can save hundreds more?"

Sarutobi stands, turning towards the window. "I am not saying that you have not done good work. Your ideas are impeccably researched, and I do not doubt their viability. But that…is exactly what scares me." He turns abruptly, fixing his student with a piercing stare. "I realize the value of being able to achieve immortality, but at the price of the life of another?" His face is haggard, the lines pronounced as he takes his seat once more and clasps his hands tightly. "No. I cannot allow it."

But Orochimaru will not be turned away so easily. "Think of it this way: at its core, it's nothing but a substitution jutsu. What is so terrible about a substitution jutsu?"

"It is not substitution," Sarutobi says harshly, "when it is permanent."

Orochimaru rises, his diagram clutched so tightly in his hand that the edge is wrinkled beyond repair. "Fine. I shall keep working. Thank you for your consideration."

"Orochimaru," Sarutobi says softly, "this is not the way to save Tsunade."

He does not reply, but even though he cannot see his face, Sarutobi knows his student well: his teeth are clenched, his jaw is tight, and his eyes burn with a determination nothing but hellfire itself can stop.

Orochimaru leaves, his progress slowed but not halted. Never, ever halted.

_I will show you what I can do. Give me time, and I will teach you the true extent of my power. _

_Watch and learn, sensei. Watch and learn._

* * *

Tsunade awakes to the light pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof. She yawns, stretches, and rolls out of bed, heading to the bathroom to get ready for another day of work at the hospital. It is tedious work, mind-numbing work, but perhaps this is why she does it; without it, she is certain, it would be raining inside as well.

Only something stops her. Resting on her pillow is a piece of paper folded once in half. Her name is written in thin, cramped script on the outside.

She knows the handwriting well.

Unsure of what to expect, she unfolds the paper to discover an elaborate drawing, complete with notes, of two human beings and what could, possibly, happen were one soul to take over another.

Her eyes fly over the diagram, and she grows more and more shocked—yet like a mosquito bite that she can't stop from scratching, she continues reading, soaking up the material with a sick fascination. It is…perfect.

No. It is terrible, it is horrifying, it is revolting, even, yet despite what her medic-nin's mind tells her to think, she can't help but notice the beauty of his logic, the smooth elegance of his theory, the sheer brilliance of what he has uncovered.

There is one final note at the bottom of the page.

_Tsunade,_

_I told you once that we can't always save those whom we love._

_I lied. _

* * *

Orochimaru watches as the cat opens its eyes, slowly blinking as they adjust to the dim light. Beside it, the other cat does not stir.

Minutes before, both cats were almost dead.

He extends his hand slowly, placing it before the nose of the usually timid cat.

It bites. Hard.

He curses under his breath, but the gleam of happiness in his eyes is unmistakable. This cat now holds not one soul, but two…and the one he transferred is quickly proving its dominance.

_It works,_ he thought, delight overcoming him. _It works._

He can't wait to tell her.

_I will give you everything to live for._

* * *

She writes slowly, the pen unsteady in her hand.

_Dear Sarutobi-sensei,_

_I know you told us to drop the suffix years ago, and as you know I make a habit of doing so, I thought that the sudden re-addition would be sure to catch your attention. I have something important to tell you…_

* * *

Orochimaru throws the door open and practically waltzes into his apartment, falling onto the couch in pure bliss. In his hand is a fresh stack of paper; with all of his notes, he had completely used up his supply.

He picks up his pen to write, but before it even touches the paper, he catches a whiff of something unpleasant, something rotten, something…dead.

_Oh God, please…please…_

Letter forgotten, he rushes to the back room, throws on the light, and stares in horror at the cat on the table.

He touches it. It remains motionless.

He is no medic, but he knows that his experiment has failed.

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit…_

Like a sleepwalker, he stumbles back to the couch, collapsing on it in despair. The paper is crumpled underneath him, but he no longer has any desire to write a letter. He no longer has anything to write of.

_Even now, I am worthless. No wonder…no wonder she will not speak to me. Who wants to speak to a failure?_

_I would have given her the world…but now I see that I have absolutely _nothing_ to give._

* * *

Sarutobi drops Tsunade's letter, anger spreading quickly over his face. He stands quickly, rushing to the door, but it opens before he can even touch the knob.

"I'm done with it all," Orochimaru says, his eyes trained on the floor, "so don't even bother."

And he slams the door in Sarutobi's face.

* * *

The letter long gone, Tsunade still wonders whether she did the right thing.

_He was only trying to save me._

The diagram rests on her lap, the light from the fire flickering across the page, making his ghastly work seem all the more forbidden. Yet she can do nothing but stare at the smooth black lines, thinking that, demonic or not, he certainly has something here.

Orochimaru, she knows, has never been one for friendships. Over the years, she had watched him grow closer to Jiraiya, to Sarutobi, to her—but she had never thought of him as her friend. But honestly, what else was he? A fellow shinobi? A teammate? Merely an _acquaintance_?

He was strong…_and he has protected me._

He was cunning…_and it has saved our team._

And he was an expert on reading people, on seeing the emotions flitting just behind their eyes, on knowing what single word could destroy—or save—their lives.

He has never said it, but she knows he cares.

And almost as if he is daring her to doubt him, the diagram calls to her, showing that there was nothing in the world he wouldn't do if it meant that she would be happy.

It was almost like…

No. _No!_

She grabs her sake cup and hurls it against the wall, sobbing as the dark red liquid spreads slowly across the floor like blood from a corpse—or from a weeping heart.

It is too soon. She cannot do this to Dan. She cannot do this to Orochimaru. Most of all, she cannot do this to herself.

But she cannot deny her desire to fall into loving arms, to feel warmth surrounding her, to finally be able to cry all of her tears and stop the rain inside of her.

He would give her that.

_And he would give her…forever._

* * *

"Tsunade," he whispers. "I…oh God, Tsunade, please listen to me. Please."

He waits. Hopes with all he has that she will respond.

Nothing.

"I…" He pauses. Catches his breath.

_I can't do this._

And then, through the door, he hears the soft _scrape, scrape_ of table legs against the floor.

He inhales, exhales, and begins again.

"Tsunade…I'm sorry."

The door opens a crack, but he does not notice. He is caught up in his own words, so invigorated by the release he suddenly feels that he does not stop, cannot stop, and so he continues, the words rolling off of his tongue like wine pouring into a glass.

"I'm sorry that I sneered at you when Dan died. I'm sorry that I refused to comfort you when you needed it the most. I'm sorry that, when I finally tried, I did so in such a repulsive way. I'm sorry…that I could not heal your pain."

The door opens further. Still he does not stop.

"I have realized…that I am weak. I am so terribly weak that I am ashamed to even look at myself. I can fight, but I cannot seem to fight for the right things. I can win, but I cannot win the right battles.

"I am sorry, Tsunade, for everything, but most of all, I am sorry that I cannot be good enough for you."

She is standing before him now, her hands wringing at her waist, and he slowly raises his eyes to meet hers. Gold clashes with amber—_but they are really not so different_—and he cannot help but reach up and brush a few locks of hair out of her face.

"Orochimaru…

"Would you like to come in?"

* * *

"Cleaning hasn't been high on my list of priorities," she explains sheepishly, noticing how his eyes flicker to the red stain on the floor to the large pile of tissues on her coffee table and back to her hand, joined with his as she guides him around the broken vase. The contact had been spontaneous, a mere compulsion as he had stepped into her entryway and noticed the porcelain shards scattered about, but he does not seem to mind, and she finds his hand to be warmer and softer than she had expected.

It feels…nice.

They sit down on the couch, and she finally lets go, both of them uncomfortable and uncertain of what to do next.

"Would you like some tea?" she asks, hoping the small talk will take some of the awkwardness out of the situation.

But it does not, as he replies, "Do you have any sake?"

He knows her answer; she has always found escape in drink, and he figures she must have some on hand. She nods, retreats to the kitchen, and emerges again with a tall bottle and two smooth, white cups. She sets them down and pours the sake slowly, carefully, filling his cup to the brim—just as he likes it best. He takes it from her, and their fingers brush briefly.

"I'm not much of a conversationalist," he says, raising the cup to his lips and relishing the feeling of the cold liquid running down his throat.

"I know," she replies, taking a sip and feeling her muscles relax immediately. She watches him drink, and almost instantly she is tense again.

_What does he expect to happen?_

He tries again. "How have you been faring?"

She shrugs. "I'm all right, I suppose. Working helps. It takes the edge off of things, you know? Makes it duller, and the colors all blend together…"

"Mmm," Orochimaru murmurs, his cup almost empty.

"More?" she asks, noticing.

"Thank you," he says as she pours more sake. He watches as she refills her own cup as well and takes a long, long drink, calm spreading over her face as the sake courses through her body.

"And how are you?" she asks idly, pouring herself still more.

He nods towards the diagram sitting on the table next to them. "You know."

"Did it…"

"No."

"Oh."

Once again, they let silence reign, sipping their sake and slowly letting the fuzziness take over. They should stop now, and they know it, yet still they drink the world into blurry oblivion, and gradually, they let themselves slip away.

"More?"

"Yes, please."

Tsunade picks up the sake bottle only to find it much lighter than she had hoped. She holds it upside down and shakes it furiously, but to no avail.

"Damnit," she scowls, tossing the bottle over her shoulder unceremoniously. Orochimaru winces as it hits the floor with a loud crash, sending glass flying. A shard lodges in his arm, which has been resting on the top of the couch, and he winces. He is not quite as drunk as he appears.

"Oh, shit, sorry," Tsunade apologizes, her hands reaching for his arm seemingly of their own volition. "Here…let me fix it."

Her chakra flows smoothly, the warmth enveloping him, and he falls back against the cushions, soothed and totally at peace. He watches her face, her eyes scrunched up and her nose wrinkled as she concentrates on the healing, and smiles at how even in her darkest moments she can be so caring.

"There," she says, giving the glass shard a small tug and removing it from his skin. The cut is completely healed, only a thin red line remaining to show that anything was ever there at all. She pats his arm absentmindedly and tosses the shard away with the others.

And suddenly, she bursts into tears.

Frightened, Orochimaru draws back slightly, though her hand still rests in the crook of his elbow. Wounds he can deal with. Pain he can tolerate. But this…he does not know what to make of it.

She is a shinobi. Death simply comes with the job, and he thinks to tell her this…yet then he realizes that when Dan died, her faith and hope died with him.

He is scared. He does not know what to make of this woman in front of him, this woman, so powerful, whose floodgates are now lost beneath the rush of emotions that came so fast, so, so fast, that even she, a Sannin, could not match their speed.

"I…couldn't do it," she chokes out between sobs. "I couldn't heal him. I wasn't…strong enough."

Orochimaru closes his eyes as the memory rushes back.

_The moment the shinobi dragged Dan through Konoha's gates, Orochimaru knew it was only a matter of time. The younger man was seemingly clothed in blood, his face a mess of gashes and cuts, his body mangled beyond repair. Underneath the destruction, Orochimaru could barely make out the shaky rise and fall of his chest, moving ever so slowly in an increasingly unsteady rhythm, until finally…_

"_DAN!"_

_Tsunade was running faster than he had ever seen her, almost flying as she slid to a stop beside her lover's body, falling on her knees at his side. "Oh God, oh God, no, no…" Her hands glowed a brilliant green as she forced more and more chakra into his body, knowing that she was doing no good yet still continuing, still believing that maybe, just maybe, if she kept going…_

"_Dan, please. PLEASE! Don't do this to me...oh God, don't do this to me…oh no, nonono, no, oh God, NO!" _

_Orochimaru placed a hand on her shoulder. "He was too weak to live, Tsunade. It's over."_

_She whipped around, fire in her eyes, and she glared at him so harshly that he swore he had never seen such venom even in the snakes he summoned. "Don't you EVER say that to me. Don't you DARE." She turned back to Dan's body, gathering more chakra. "Come on, come on, please...oh God, please…"_

_And Sarutobi was there, gently lifting her to her feet, and she was wrestling him away, but his grip was firm and he held her, guiding her away as she broke down into a waterfall of tears, tremors racking her body so hard that she fell to the ground, trembling. _

"_Orochimaru-san, the body…"_

_He tore his gaze away and bent down to help pick up Dan. _

"Some things are beyond even your strength."

She bites her lip and turns to him, her eyes filled with such longing that he knows if she asked him to kill her right then and there, he would have done it out of pure desire to make her happy. "Could you…could you maybe…"

Slowly, he nods.

She falls into his arms, and he wraps them tightly around her, hugging her to him as tightly as he can as her hands come up to grip the front of his shirt. He holds her close, letting her cry and cry because sometimes, he realizes, things die that are worth mourning, but there is still always so much to live for.

And her hands are pulling up his shirt, and his mouth finds its way to her neck, and maybe it's the sake and maybe it's the moment and they both know this is wrong, so wrong, yet her fingers are on the bare skin of his chest and his hands are fisted in her hair, and their lips meet in an explosion of color and feeling, and he lifts her carefully, gently stroking her back, and her fingertips dance over his belt, and he doesn't know where this is going or when it is going to stop, but it feels right and beautiful and like everything he has ever wanted, and he smiles at her, and she smiles back, and then she attacks his lips again and he can do nothing but kiss her, kiss her so deeply as they tumble onto the bed, her nails digging into his skin as he loses himself in her, and they start a rhythm so perfectly synchronized, so perfectly together that she can't believe that she wasn't able to see its possibility before, and something wells up deep inside of them both, and they are joined in a conflagration of light, and she screams, and he thinks he does as well, but he can barely think at all as he collapses on top of her, panting as their heartbeats slowly, gently intertwine.

* * *

Orochimaru awakes first, his head throbbing slightly from the alcohol. He stretches and grimaces, feeling stabs of pain shoot down his back. Curious, he reaches behind him and lets out a small gasp of surprise as his fingertips find a series of long scabs across his shoulder blades. Then he catches sight of the woman beside him, a look of complete and utter contentment on her face as she sleeps, and the activities of the previous night come rushing back to him.

He climbs out of bed softly so as not to wake her and finds his pants, cast aside carelessly during the moment of inflamed passion. Pulling them on, he walks over to open the window to an overcast sky, nearly black as the thunderheads roll in. He can almost hear the heavens churning.

He wonders what she will think of him. True, they were both drunk, and they were both equally responsible, but still…he was the one who said yes.

A deep yawn behind him brings him out of his reverie. Tsunade arches her back, and he can't help but remember how his body melted perfectly into her curves. She begins to stand up and then yelps, realizing that her clothes are strewn with the rest of his over the floor, and she notices that instead of averting his gaze, he is looking at her strangely, almost as if he is trying to discern what she is thinking.

She smiles at him. "Yes, we really did it, if that's what you were wondering."

He shakes himself, bending over and attempting to find his shirt—anything to avoid meeting her eyes.

But she will have none of it, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at her. "Your shirt's on the couch."

"Oh," he murmurs, heading in that direction. "Thank you."

Huffing, she stomps after him, quickly grabbing her bathrobe off of a hook and wrapping it around herself. "So is that all you're going to say? We do the down and dirty and you just walk away? Because that's really nice of you, Orochimaru. That's _really_ nice."

He stops abruptly, spinning to face her. "No. I just want to find my shirt…"

"…so you can leave without people thinking anything less of you? What was that, then? Do you care more about what they think than you do about me? Was I simply something to enjoy, something to be used?"

"Can I please just get my shirt…"

"No, damnit! You are going to _listen_ to me and you are going to _like_ it!"

She grips his shoulders and whirls him around. He curses her and her brute strength because there's a look in her eyes that he doesn't know what to make of, a look of longing, pleading, and desperation. Her hand travels down his chest, and his breath hitches in his throat. Instinctively, he tenses, and she quickly pulls away, hurt joining the other emotions writing themselves across her face.

He tries to speak.

"I need my shirt," he says, "because without it, I…I feel vulnerable."

She raises an eyebrow, questioning.

"I…why?" And suddenly, everything is pouring out, and he can't stop the mad rush of thoughts tumbling from his lips. "Why did you let me do it? Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't _I_ stop me? Oh God, why didn't I control myself? And why…why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Her gaze is gentle, kind, almost, he would venture to say, loving, even if he's not quite ready to admit that to himself yet, and her hand moves, ever so slowly, to the side of his face, and he closes his eyes, her touch enough to almost make him lose himself and take her again, right there, right now.

"Because…" She pauses, unsure of her words. "Because it was something beautiful."

And he wants to catch the words as they come, capture them and hold them close, but he can do none of this because her fingers are on his cheek and her scent is in his being and he has never, ever felt so vulnerable.

But maybe, he thinks, it is not such a bad feeling.

Trust, he realizes, is not a weakness.

He will stay.

"Can I use your shower?" he asks, sounding almost embarrassed.

She smiles. "Sure."

He will stay.

She knows not for how long—it could be a year, it could be only a few hours—but he will stay.

And that, for now, will be enough.

* * *

It is springtime, and Orochimaru feels invigorated as he walks home, smiling as the rays of sunshine hit his face. It has been years—maybe even forever—since life has been so exhilarating, and he cannot help but hum quietly to himself as he fishes around in his pocket, trying to find his house key. He is still trying to adjust to the habit of locking his front door, but as he is rarely home anymore, he grudgingly realizes the necessity.

Most of his time recently had been spent at Tsunade's—_in Tsunade's bedroom_, he thinks with a smirk. He knows what has really happened: there was a hole in her life, threatening to swallow her, and somehow he managed to fit it exactly, filling it and sparing her from falling in. He is her outlet, nothing more…and yet he sees her heart floating on top of the tea she prepares for him each morning, sees it reflected in the glass as she comes up behind him in the mirror and helps him tie his belt, sees it resting in her hands as she lies in his arms, and he thinks that maybe, maybe, she is willing to give it up again. Maybe, just maybe, there is something more here.

He hopes to God that he is right, because whatever her feelings for him, he knows that he loves her.

He opens the door and walks inside, coughing at how dusty everything has become. It bothers him, but he ignores it; he has more important matters to tend to.

_I will prove myself worthy._

His workroom is completely dark, the candles long since reduced to wax. The odor has faded, though the dead cat still rests on the table. Eyes narrow, he takes it and pins the carcass to the wall above his desk. It is a reminder of his failure…and of the price should he fail again.

He strikes a match and begins.

_I will give her a reason to love me._

* * *

Tsunade leans back, relief washing over her face. Her hands are covered in blood, her hair is stuck to the back of her neck, and her body is drained—but it is done. The boy lying on the table may still be near the edge, but he is no longer threatening to fall off of it. He will live.

"Well," she says to the nurses, all staring at her with looks of reverence and awe, "we did it."

She uses the "we" more out of politeness than honesty. She knows that most of the chakra that poured into the boy was her own. She knows most of the orders shouted came from her lips. Yet she learned long ago that the best way to get the most out of your subordinates is to make them feel useful, needed.

She tries to deny that she continues to come to work each morning for that very same reason.

When she healed a wound, she felt powerful. When she fixed a broken bone, she felt strong. And when she brought someone back from the brink of death, she felt important, almost important enough that if she were to suddenly disappear, someone might miss her.

But now, though she continues to report for work each morning, she realizes that there indeed was someone whose world might crumble were she to be taken out of it.

_Orochimaru._

She tells herself that she is doing it to fulfill her own desires, to help her own scars fade, but she knows that she is only doing what she does best: saving a life.

_Who has ever loved you?_

Her words haunt her, fill her dreams as she sleeps in his embrace, invade her mind as she awakes to find him still asleep, his face relaxed, strands of hair falling across his eyes, his hands lightly touching her shoulders, and she can't believe that these same hands have torn throats open, ripped out spines, killed, destroyed, ravaged, obliterated.

She knows he cannot love her. She knows that he has needs and that she is simply there to satisfy them. And so she continues to come to work, continues to train, and one day, she hopes she will be able to love enough for the both of them.

She washes her hands, takes the clipboard handed to her, and moves on to the next room.

* * *

They meet for lunch in a small coffee shop, though neither of them particularly cares for coffee. It is a familiar cliché, though, and it makes him feel slightly more at ease. He cannot stop his skin from tingling as she passes him the sugar bowl and their fingers brush. He looks at her, and her hair is stringy around her face, her clothes are dirty and rumpled, and her eyes are tired yet strong, resolved to the fact that she still has several more hours on duty.

He thinks she is beautiful.

"So, how was your morning?" she asks, idly stirring her coffee.

"Productive," he replies nonchalantly.

"Really?" she returns, her eyebrows raising slightly as she takes a drink. "What have you been up to?"

And he wants to tell her that he has been making progress, that he has discovered flaws in his original design and is trying to figure out how to remove them, that he could really use her expertise, but then he remembers Sarutobi's disapproving glare, and he knows that he still cannot trust her not to turn him in.

He finally decides on the truth. "I am working on a new jutsu."

"What kind?" she persists, and he curses her curiosity, but it is not hard to come up with a reply.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

_I will give you a miracle._

* * *

They continue to see each other by candlelight, the flickering flames casting their shadows up on her bedroom walls as he takes her, again and again and again, and she is content because she knows he will be there in the morning. Whatever his true feelings are, he remains caring, and he will be up and about when she opens her eyes, the smell of a hot breakfast lazily teasing her nostrils, and she'll half-walk, half-stagger into the kitchen and be caught in his arms.

Then they will part ways, she to her work and he to his training. They might have lunch together, depending on their schedules, and sometimes Jiraiya will join them, though he senses that he is intruding and never stays for long.

And in the evenings, she will walk to Dan's grave and run her hand over the smooth marble headstone because even now, two years later, she cannot let go. Maybe it is because she feels she has betrayed him with her relationship with Orochimaru, or maybe it is because she knows when she gets home, he will be waiting for her. He knows where she has been, knows that she is still stuck in the past, and yet he stays.

She lets herself believe that he will stay forever.

Until one morning when she wakes up and smells nothing but the smoke from her candle. She gets up, fear flickering through her, and hurries to the kitchen. There are no pans on the stove, no dishes on the counter—but there is a note.

_Hime,_

_Sarutobi came by. He said he needed to speak with us. It sounded urgent, so I went with him, but I did not want to wake you. I am at the Hokage Tower. Join me as soon as you can._

_Orochimaru_

It sounds more like a love note than a summons, and she cannot help but smile as she dresses. She makes her way briskly to Sarutobi's office, where her former sensei, her lover, and Jiraiya are waiting.

"Did you sleep well?" Orochimaru asks pleasantly. She nods and joins him by the window, and his arm snakes its way around her waist. Sarutobi raises an eyebrow, and Jiraiya just smirks.

"Bet you had some fun last night, didn't you?" he asks, grinning.

Orochimaru punches him in the head, and Jiraiya scowls and yells at him, and Tsunade sighs and puts herself between them, her strength the only thing keeping them from going at each other. Sarutobi smiles. This is the team he remembers: the team that looks out for each other no matter what.

That is exactly what he needs right now.

"You three still act like genin," he chuckles, turning a mission scroll over and over in his palms. "Luckily your skills are not reflected in your actions, or I would not be assigning you this mission."

They stop squabbling immediately and turn to Sarutobi, who proffers the mission scroll to Jiraiya.

"It is an A-rank, so of course you may decline if you so wish."

His words are lost as Jiraiya rapidly scans the scroll and hands it to his teammates. The three of them have never once turned down a mission, no matter what the risks. This is a testament, he thinks, to their faith in each other, that whatever may happen to one of them, the others will pull them through.

"An escaped convict?" Orochimaru asks incredulously. "How is this an A-rank?"

"The man in question is one of Konoha's most dangerous prisoners," Sarutobi explains. "I myself know little about him, as very few are charged with his care. I do not know the full extent of his abilities, but I do know this: he almost killed several of our strongest ANBU. _That_, Orochimaru, is why it is an A-rank."

"And you want us to capture him and bring him back," Tsunade finishes.

Sarutobi nods.

Orochimaru puts the scroll in a pouch at his side. "Dead or alive?"

"It does not matter to me."

"Sounds like fun," Jiraiya says, cracking his knuckles. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible," Sarutobi replies. "The man—Jugo—was last sighted near the border of Fire and Wind. You can pick up the trail from there. It is essential that you work quickly; we do not know what damage he may wreak if he is not apprehended. Orochimaru, you are in command—"

"Hey!"

"—because you are better at keeping calm under pressure than either of your teammates," Sarutobi finishes, glaring at Jiraiya. "I will give you a week to complete the mission. Send a message if you feel you need more time. Good luck."

* * *

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Lavish praise (ha)?

Please, share.


End file.
